


The Lesson

by SpookshowBabyx



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookshowBabyx/pseuds/SpookshowBabyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning from Neverland and taking heed of their new antagonist; Regina strives to teach Emma magic... Much to her displeasure. Set within part 2 of season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I believe I might be a masochist in writer's form. I'm- supposedly- trying to wrap up my fics to focus on my own work... But... My goddaughter wanted a bedtime story based around Regina teaching Emma magic (she's still at Neverland stage with watching, and is 4, so has no idea why her favourite characters please me so much) and... well... this happened. Language aside, this was close to what was told under the influence of rum and cookies tonight... I have a feeling the rest might be altered slightly for younger ears! Hope you enjoy :) Please review:)

Tapping her pen against her teeth, the blonde watches as the Queen stalks back and forth in front of her desk; a rather rich description for the stack of magazines and pad of paper she rests on her lap. Leaning back against threadbare cushions and overstuffed upholstery, Emma sighs; raising a brow as the Mayor once more turns her back to her and proffers the rather splendid retreating view of the back of her skirt.

"So, you want to take attendance or something, or are we good?"

The Sheriff offers sarcastically, her eyes trained on deep crimson. She muses idly that before coming to Storybrooke, she had never much been one for fashion... Regina has changed all that.  _Not_  to the extent that she should give a flying fuck how she dresses herself, but she upholds a curious... well... 'fascination' for the discomfort the darker woman is willing to bestow upon herself in order to really make an impression.

Smirking, Emma supposes that today is a perfect case in point; the rich scarlet cocoon of the brunette's pencil skirt hugging her mercilessly and cinching in prettily at the waist, beneath a cropped, flared blazer of the very same. The skirt is slit to showcase just the right amount of stockinged thigh to be considered proper, and the blazer hangs open to display the pristinely starched ivory of the shirt beneath.

Top two buttons undone.

Giving the eye very little, but the imagination much more.

Shaking herself a little distractedly from this last thought, Emma meets the disdainful glower her flippant comment has garnered with a well-practiced, stone-faced display of 'nothing'.

She herself sits with her legs crossed up underneath her; clad in a pair of nondescript pyjama shorts, and a promotional sweatshirt for an athletic event participated in _long_  before the kid had come knocking at her door back in Boston.

She remembers that time; well, the communal changing rooms at least.

Pulling ruthlessly at the laces of her sneakers in that 'no-nonsense, no-mercy' way that had kept her well-regarded within her job, before turning to the scratched mirror above an identical set of sinks to tie her hair back.

She'd not won that- simply sadistic- course of mud, miles and obstacles, but her time had been pretty damn impressive, and at no point as her nikes had been pounding down on the track had she thought about the kid given up nine years before.

_Funny how things change._

Yawning pointedly when the brunette ignores her in favour of throwing her housemate's-  _mother's... got to stop doing that..._ \- chosen artwork a dismissive sniff, Emma puts pen to paper and begins doodling a series of scribbled spirals that weave in and out of each other disjointedly.

Regina fixes her with a solemn glower, before scolding loftily

"To take attendance, one would need a congregation of students... This is something I have little time for,  _nor_  have asked for... But it seems as though you have been somewhat  _thrust_  upon me."

For lack of a comeback, the Sheriff simply exaggerates and lengthens her yawn- doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact- and scrawls her name satirically across the top of the page. Matching apathy for disdain; the Mayor sighs, and places her hands on her hips as she surveys the small collection of books she'd brought with her on this most obscure of journeys.

"Why not _date_  it and write Hook's name at the bottom inside a little heart?"

"I didn't know this was going to be a recurring, multi-dated thing, Your Majesty, and, with all due respect; go fuck yourself."

Dark coals flash with irritation, but then proceed simply to roll.

Had this been a year ago-  _in fact, not even that!-_  such crass language and disrespect might have rendered the older woman shocked... As it is, she merely offers a small sigh and turns back to the table on which two, large paper cups hold residence along with the literature that takes centre stage.

"Pupils I have neither _had_  before, nor wanted- now,  _or_  back then- but  _you_ , Miss Swan, are less of a mystery to me. Double shot, extra sugar... I hope it does all the magic that skinny little waste of space at the Diner promised it would do."

She scolds; holding out one of the cups with a disgusted pull of pretty, full lips.

Cocking her head in surprise, Emma takes it; grinning when she catches the markered information lining the vessel's spine. In the square left open for sugars and syrups, there sits a bulbous, sideways 8... Infinity.

Below this are scrawled a loopy 'E' and a heart.

_Thanks, Ruby._

Allowing no time for such soppiness, the Queen plucks a hefty book from the top of the pile and turns on the Sheriff with a hard look.

"Your childish cravings aside... You know why I'm here...?"

She awaits an answer- and she will be damned if she's going to accept any of that sarcastic, drawled drivel she has come to associate with the young blonde sprawled before her- dark eyes taking in a mussed ponytail of honey coloured- and, she is loathe to know of such things- honey _scented_  curls tumbling down the soft cotton of the younger woman's asphalt coloured sweatshirt.

Curious, thick-rimmed glasses she has never seen before.

Mismatched socks peaking out beneath clumsily crossed limbs.

_Give me strength..._

Raising an eyebrow- waiting for Emma to answer her question- she merely thrusts the heavy book in her hands at the blonde and sniffs as the latter answers with baited flippancy

"To teach me a lesson?"

"... Correct, Miss Swan."


	2. Chapter 2

Taking a sip from the coffee in her hand, the blonde studies the book thrust unceremoniously upon her with open apprehension. Its cover is a curious leather- at least, she  _thinks_  it's leather- and encrypted with characters foreign to any she has seen before. Frowning, she muses that while she would be the first to admit that both school and a wealth of cultural knowledge have had very little impact or presence in her life, she doesn't think this to be the reason she finds herself stumped now.

When she had lived for a while in New Hampshire before travelling a little further South, she had shared a flat with a couple of young post-grad students affectionately known as Baba and Lena. Notes left between the two had consisted of a complex array of angles and misleadingly familiar looking letters that sounded nothing like their English counterparts. Those scribbles had been confusing, but somehow  _sane_ , and the Sheriff supposes that being able to read 'milk', 'bread', and most importantly 'beer' in Russian might someday-  _somehow_ \- come in useful.

She doesn't think the book Regina has presented her with will have all too much to do with groceries; be they Russian, Greek, Japanese or even fucking Arabic.

Looking back up at the brunette with a bemused frown, she shrugs and tries to give the book back.

"Can we at least start with something written in English?"

Rolling her eyes, the Mayor takes a step back and raises her palms with a firm shake of her head as she refuses the ancient pages Emma holds out to her.

"There isn't a 'Beginner's Guide to Spell Casting', or 'Magic 101', Miss Swan."

"But how am I supposed to read...Uh..."

"Elvish. Well, a rendition of the language anyway."

"... You're fucking with me..."

"I am doing no such thing."

"Elvish? _Seriously_? I thought we were Disney rejects, not Lord of the Rings?"

Sighing theatrically, the Queen folds her arms across her chest and regards the younger woman irritably.

"If you want a history lesson on your homeland and its heritage, ask mommy and daddy for a bedtime story. I'm _sure_  I don't need to remind you that there is a Witch at large in our small town, who has not only stolen a symbol of your father's courage, but is clearly on the lookout for further wickedness. A Witch that has erased our memories for reasons we still don't know, and might well pose a threat to our son.  _You_  were the one that came to  _me_  and asked to try this again, and I made it quite clear I would help you  _only_  if you refrained from behaving in the asinine manner which I have grown to associate with you..."

The blonde scowls in response to this last part, but opens the book in her lap with a defeated sigh of

"Fine... Elvish it is..."

Smirking as she adopts a less hostile stance and sips delicately from her coffee, the Mayor confides

"I was first a student, and then a Queen, but my attention was always focused very much towards one sole cause... And I can tell you now that that 'cause' had very little to do with mastering the many tongues spoken by the long-dead."

"... Huh?"

"I neither speak, nor read Elvish, Miss Swan."

"But-"

"- _But_ , one can learn plenty from symbols and instructive illustration. If you want to know what that book says cover to cover, take it to Belle, but I imagine the only reason you should need to do so would be to feel childishly smug about the knowledge you would then hold superseding my own."

"... Well, Madame Mayor, if you hadn't noticed... There's kind of this Wicked Witch at large in our small town, and I don't suppose my  _brilliant_  academic prowess will-"

"-Have you _quite_  finished?"

"I'm done."

Offering a curt nod, the darker woman stalks over and points to a small slip of paper that has been used to mark a page towards the centre of the book. Waiting for Emma to open up to the right place, she takes a seat primly beside the blonde; opening her mouth to order the Sheriff to sit properly so that her bare, skinny knee isn't pressing against the fine fabric of her skirt, but she decides not to waste her breath.

"The images show a basic step-by-step of positioning your hands. As you can see, it's a big book, and I have no intention of going over reading the stars or foraging for mushrooms with you, but the theory behind summoning and controlling your magic seemed like a good place to start."

Studying a selection of five images showing a simplistically minimalistic figure with obscurely detailed hands, Emma rolls her eyes as she struggles to spot the minute differences between each of them.

"Hands out front, I know! Were you not paying attention in Neverland when I-"

"-When your finger work was sloppy at best? Yes. Oh, desist with that sullen face; you did well enough, Sheriff, in fact,  _most_  would probably say you preformed  _remarkably_  well for a novice."

"... Can I express my big, fat lack of surprise that you're not one of them?"

"... I expect more from you. You preformed well for a novice most definitely, but below your capabilities. You have magic, we discerned that much after you rubbed a dreamcatcher on Archie's dog in an attempt to frame me for murder-"

"- I was-"

"-Doing what anyone else would have done in your position."

"... Just so we're clear... And  _you're_  not exactly allowed much room for complaint with the whole murder framing thing. I mean-"

"-Save your thoughts and recaps for your diary or this 'Facebook' Henry showed me, or whatever it is you use to vent your emotions. Punch bag, pillow, liquor; I neither know nor care. What I  _care_  about is the fact that you have a gift and a potentially debilitating one at that, and I might not always be on hand to copy."

Tapping the first of the images with an immaculately painted nail, she then holds up her own hands with the palms splayed for Emma to observe.

"The closer you can get to holding your thumbs out at a right angle, the cleaner the power flow, provided that you keep your hands level with one another when facing your target."

The blonde mimics her amiably enough, along with the insight of

"I can bend my thumbs back anyway, double jointed or something I think is what my friend called it. Me and some of the boys used to-"

"-Concentrate. Unless you were able to blast dirty-kneed children across the schoolyard, I have little interest in your youthful flirtations."

Letting out a low sigh or irritation, Emma holds her hands up pointedly and awaits further instruction. She raises a brow however, when Regina proceeds to ask what she knows of palm reading; replying uncertainly

"Uh... Not a lot. Is that stuff actually legit then?"

"Legitimate? Well... Yes and no. Are many of the old hags that profess talent in the field pure hokum? Yes. Is the entire practice to be discredited for this reason? Absolutely not. Magic stems primarily from the mind and from your simple essence, but control is often sensical and linear. The lines across your palms are valuable assets in this case."

She takes a hold of the Sheriff's hand and manipulates it so that the younger woman's palm and fingers are splayed for analyses between them; smirking at the small noise of disquiet she catches from her side.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to read your fortune or look into your future, dear. Husband and children are not on my agenda for today."

Emma chuckles as she interprets from Regina's tone that she would be unable to discern such things anyway, and she muses a little icily

"No, but that _is_  another reason for me to get this shit down. I've been fuc- I almost married a _flying monkey_. That's not 'okay' in my book."

The brunette grins.

"Yes, I suppose that might provide some form of personal vendetta... Do you think you would have said yes? Henry seemed hopeful."

"Yeah, well,  _Henry_  won't have nightmares about visiting the zoo for the rest of his life... And I wish people would quit asking me that."

"I was unaware they had been. So far as I saw, your father seemed rather traumatised at the idea, simian groom or regular."

"I guess it was just a surprise. Hook asked though, and-"

"-Hook's reason for taking an interest differs somewhat from my own, I will hasten to point out..."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, enough! You know _perfectly_  well what I mean... And never go into acting. They'd eat you alive."

"Will you just let it go already?"

"Oh, I think not. You see, dear, the length of time one tends to commit to teasing another depends _greatly_  on how long the resultant reaction remains amusing. As such, I don't imagine I'll be stopping any time soon. But, if you would rather I focus my disdain towards your inability to at least copulate with the same  _species,_  then-"

"-Shut up! That's... I never- he- I- Just show me the shit you want to show me with this palmistry stuff, or quit holding my hand."

Laughing as the Sheriff's cheeks bloom scarlet, the brunette clears her throat and traces the three most prominent lines that mar the blonde's palm in order.

"Life line, heart line, head line."

"Should I be worried that my life line is a hell of a lot shorter than yours?"

"Only if you put any faith in the frauds that might tell you that means anything. And let's not forget that for twenty-eight years I may not have aged, but I was most certainly  _alive_. No, those lines and their direction  _do_  have meaning, and I'm sure that meaning would fascinate many- especially with you being the Saviour- but I'm not one of them. Not anymore. Though it  _is_  curious I suppose..."

"What is?"

"There are four lines of interest when it comes to actual palm reading."

"So?"

"You only have three."

"... Meaning?"

"Probably? Absolutely nothing. I see no fate line. It may just be very faint, or I may just not be a very good palm-reader, both of which are plausible reasons. You have to appreciate the irony, however."

"Oh, sure, I'm  _overwhelmed_  with ironic glee."

Emma grumbles; tiring of having her hand held and feeling weirdly judged for what she herself believes are simply the creases caused by the shape of the bones beneath and daily use of her fingers.

"Hmmm. Anyway, as I explained; power lies in a clean flow of magic. To hold your hands with the thumbs at right angles parallel to each other allows the most simple and _basic_  flow. But, if the lines of your heart, head and life are channeled, you will find it easier to control your magic in a way that best fits the situation. Head is an easy one... Head lines being lined up and utilised as the bridge for your 'current' if you will allows focus and unbiased power. It's what practitioners use most when relying on magic for a task or a purpose... Unfortunately, I don't think that will come into play all too often when it comes to what we are trying to do."

"Figures. What with it being the simplest and all."

The blonde sighs, and the darker woman eyes her shrewdly.

"Simplest... and least taxing. What we did when working together in Neverland was head magic."

"That was still pretty intense!"

"Yes, but you didn't _suffer_  for it."

"How-"

"-Down in the mines... That was different. Remember how we held our hands out instead?"

"Wasn't really paying attention to where my _hands_  were!"

"No, well, this is what I mean when I say you need to know these things and not just rely on myself as a source to mimic."

"I thought you were going to  _die_!"

"Precisely. I was channeling my life force."

"Oh, well why didn't you  _say_? You-"

"-More powerful, and with greater effect... but at a price."

"... You have to deem the cause worth sacrificing for...?"

Raising an eyebrow, the brunette nods, and lets go of the Sheriff's hand.

"Exactly. Not always with your _life_ , you understand... But the willingness to allow this to be the case must come into play. Understand that using your magic with your hands held out in the way ours were back in the mines won't _automatically_  drain you of your power or place you in any danger... Control and intent play a large part in it too. You could most likely hold your hands out in any which way and be able to cast  _some_  sort of magic... But 'some sort of magic' isn't good enough. Practice and understanding are key."

"Makes sense... So what now?"

Emma inquires with a dubious glance in the direction of the other books the Mayor has brought with her. Catching the object of the blonde's attention, Regina surprises her by chuckling lightly.

"It seems I underestimated how tiring trying to explain things with you interrupting all the time would be. I think we'll call it a day."

"But what about the Witch? I-"

"-Oh, I never said I was  _finished_  with you, Sheriff, but the thought of studying runes with yourself on the off chance that they should come in useful is threatening to give me a migraine. I think our time would be best spent taking a rather more  _practical_  approach."

"Practical? You mean-"

"-I mean I believe it's high time you put some proper clothes on and sorted yourself out. When you've managed to appropriate a style of dress that will permit you to leave the house, we will continue."

"Fine, hang on, I'll go grab some jeans-"

"-Showering and brushing your hair are also prerequisites. Meet me by the Toll Bridge at noon. Don't be late."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're just going to pretend the season finale never happened for this. Also, I just started a FanFic/art tumblr of (bad) little illustrations and stuff under 'spookshowbabyx', the link's on my profile here, and it would be super cool if anyone wanted to follow/ reblog/ request dodgy art in any context of the word! :) Thanks for reading, and enjoy! Please review!

Smiling- despite her better instincts- in response to the archer's small quip, the brunette begs her leave and tells him that she is needed elsewhere. Turning from Granny's towards the woods, her expression sours somewhat as she spies the Sheriff- of times long gone- perched on one of the old benches that flank the trees. Sighing, she mutters her farewells and stalks towards her burden with a little extra sway of her hips.

"What?"

She snaps caustically as Emma raises an eyebrow suggestively when she approaches.

"Nothing..."

The blonde grins, as the darker woman rolls her eyes.

"What are you doing _here_  anyway, I believe I was perfectly clear where we were to meet?"

"Well yeah, but I had to come this way anyway and figured I'd just wait for you."

Emma shrugs; holding out half of her sandwich which goes cordially ignored.

"I was unaware you needed your hand held for a simple walk through the woods, Miss Swan."

Regina sniffs, starting off down the path cutting through the quick thickening trees without invite that her companion should follow. The younger woman catches her up easily and falls into step at her side; courting the stray strands of her grilled cheese in a most unladylike fashion. Eyeing her up and down irritably- an inevitable emotion when in the blonde's presence it seems- the Mayor frowns.

"You wore- what I _assume_  were- your pyjamas to walk to your parent's house?"

" _And_  back again. Shocking, I know, what with it being like two buildings down."

"... Shocking? From you; no. But I can think of several other words for it."

"Yeah, well,  _you_  wanted to meet at the crack of dawn, so-"

"-eight. I wanted to meet at eight. And why _are_  you rooming at Granny's, anyway? Before you left, you and the Charmings had such a _sickeningly_  adorable little Von Trapp thing going on."

"Firstly, I'm going to ignore that. Secondly, my mother's bed is in the freaking living room. Weird enough when she was just Mary Margaret, but with emotionally scarring capabilities  _now_. She's going to have a baby; I don't need to know how it got in there."

The brunette laughs at this, before shooting the younger woman a poisonous look. She doesn't need Emma getting ideas that this is to become a friendly affair; one or two shared drinks with the Sheriff since her return to Storybrooke distressing enough as it is.

"Well, I imagine much the same way _you_  did, dear."

"...Seriously?"

Sniffing- and deciding to drop this crass line of conversation now that she's gotten the last word in- Regina climbs gracefully over a fallen log while Emma clambers after her.

"Where's Henry, anyway?"

"Hook's taken him out to the docks. I think they're looking at Leroy's boat or something."

"He's with Hook?"

"He likes Hook."

"Well... The man's a pirate, not to be trusted, and has a weapon for a hand... I would ask what there might be for a twelve year old  _not_  to like, if I had any delusion that  _Henry's_  interests were paramount in the matter."

"... You're making an awful lot of snide comments for a woman with a crush... Do you  _know_  how much self-restraint I'm using right now?"

"I can assure you I have no idea what you're talking about. And, incidentally,  _I'm_  not the one letting men into my motel room while clad only in my pyjamas."

"Yes, it's a miracle I'm not pregnant, what with the infamous effect sweatshirts and boxer shorts have on all red-blooded men... And,  _incidentally_... It's a bed and breakfast.

The blonde grumbles as she pulls her jacket more tightly around herself; her breath coming out in misted pants much like the Queen's. Sighing when Regina's only response is a low murmur as to how this hardly makes things any more acceptable, Emma changes tact and asks what the darker woman has planned.

"If I told you that, then I'm not sure it would work."

"... That's a little worrying."

"Hmm... I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

"Fine... But the minute you start offering me baked goods, I'm calling foul play."

The younger woman grins, but her mirth isn't matched by the brunette who frowns and turns to her irritably.

"That was then and this is now."

"I know that, I was just-"

"-Well, don't... I didn't  _have_  to do what I did for you when Pan's curse hit."

Emma opens her mouth to sark back lightly that attempted murder is still a pretty big thing to sweep beneath the carpet, but the expression on the darker woman's face has her thinking better of it; instead simply muttering

"Ok, ok... Sorry."

The Mayor sniffs with false arrogance; not wanting to dwell on the irritable twinge of guilt pestering her as it always does whenever the matter is broached. She supposes things might be better if they acknowledged the subject and moved on, but she has so far found herself unable to make an attempt at doing so. If it had been a case of Emma being particularly vindictive and bringing the matter up whenever they locked horns- daily, in other words- she might not have the luxury of letting things lie, but the blonde seems to have swept the issue up in the mountainous chaos of the curse breaking and being forced to come to terms with greater things, and has yet to force such conversations.

Sighing, Regina supposes that- given what she has planned-  _now_  is a rather ironic time to ponder things.

This causes a small smirk, and she allows the blonde to take the lead as they cross the rather sorry remains of the bridge; the younger woman doing so with that patent blend of carelessness and insouciance the Mayor imagines to play a large part in Emma eventually having bested her.

_Well, it's certainly not a case of wits._

"Do you think maybe we should put up a sign out here or something? Only, this doesn't seem entirely safe for use, what with the holes and rotting wood and all."

_No. Definitely not wits._

"Well, nobody _uses_  this path save for your father, and that was only when half comatose. Perhaps something to do with the trolls that once lived beneath it, or simply because most people have _better_  things to do than cavort around in the forest. But, if it makes you feel better, then by all means put up as many signs as your heart desires, dear; it will make a nice change for you to actually _do_  your job."

"My  _job_?! I _left_! I'm a fucking bails bonds person! And David's been-"

"-deluding himself that he's fit for the job. Yes."

"... Are you saying you thought I _was_?"

"I-"

"-You  _were_! Go on. Say it properly! Tell me just how awesome I am."

Rolling dark eyes behind the blonde's back, Regina sniffs and wonders if pushing the younger woman from the bridge would be fatal. Either way, she imagines the resultant mess would cause her quite a headache, and so suffices with simply sighing dramatically as they cross over to the other side of the gorge.

"How come you didn't bring them, anyway?"

"Excuse me?"

"The trolls. How come you didn't bring them over too?"

"Why on earth would I want to suffer the company of trolls?"

"Hell _, I_  don't know. I mean, you brought over Miss Ginger, and god knows this town would be a better place without  _her_  glowering about, too."

"... Yes, well I didn't base my decision on whether or not those I brought over would find you to be an  _insufferable_  neighbour and lodge a  _complaint_  every five minutes."

"Lodged them to _me_! That was the most insane part of it all! I mean-"

"-Miss Swan, much as I'm sure the goings on in your dilapidated old building were  _spine-tinglingly_  thrilling and that you were the innocent victim in the matter, could we perhaps focus on the task at hand?"

"Well, yeah... Once you tell me what the hell we're _doing_  out here. So far, I'm not getting the 'lesson' if that's what this is."

"I haven't started yet."

"Started  _what_? And fine, when  _are_  you going to start, Your Majesty?"

"Turn around."

With a pointed yawn, the younger woman does as she's told; regarding the brunette with an expectantly raised brow.

"Well? I don't get it? When are you-"

"-Now."


	4. Chapter 4

_"Now."_

The brunette states calmly, before raising her hands up in front of her in a swift, graceful motion that juxtaposes perfectly with the younger woman's small stumble over an unruly root and confused frown.

Emma isn't kept wondering as to the Queen's intentions for long; green eyes widening in alarm as the telling crack of a snapping branch sounds from above like a gunshot. Her first instinct- her  _ingrained_  instinct- is to throw her arms up over her head and pray to a god she's never believed in, but the stubborn streak that courses deep within her blood raises its voice to argue that any mayhem being caused is Regina's fault.

She lets the latter win out and raises her palms just in time to send the large, severed limb of oak plummeting down into the gorge beside them; reducing the darker woman's deadly threat to splinters.

"Good!"

"Are you fucking  _crazy_?! You almost-"

But Regina ignores such grievances and simply sighs as she gives a deft flick of her wrist; sending another, larger, hunk of wood hurtling towards the blonde.

And another.

And another.

Watching as Emma's fearful expression evolves slowly into a defiant grin; the younger woman locking her in with that unnerving gaze which glitters with understanding as she makes ever more skilful work of rendering the brunette's threats unsuccessful.

The Queen finds herself smirking back; surprised to find that she is enjoying herself immensely.

_Of course you're enjoying yourself! You've been wanting an opportunity to attack the irksome woman ever since she got here!_

True...

And she refuses to give any  _other_  reason behind her sly smile even a moment's thought.

Dark coals dance with fire as the blonde turns the rotting stump of an airborne maple tree into ash a mere second away from making impact, and Regina shows her teeth in a malicious smile as the younger woman throws her head back and laughs fearlessly.

"Is that all you've got!?"

Emma goads her, with her own teeth bared in an impish grin; long hair whipping around wildly behind her in the wind.

" _Please_ , I've barely _started_."

The brunette purrs back dismissively, despite finding herself inwardly both impressed and a little perturbed by the fact that Emma has kept such abilities under wraps during times of need.

Raising an eyebrow, she takes heed of the blonde's cockiness, and sends a branch rushing towards her as a means of distraction as she focuses her attention on the large oak that studs the threshold to the bridge. The errant branch changes direction for the gorge as if rebounding off of an unseen forcefield, while the ancient tree groans and cracks before making its decent down into the clearing in which they stand.

It happens quickly- the Mayor's scarlet smirk falling to an altogether less confident grimace- and she barely has time to back hurriedly out of the way as the gnarled wood shakes the ground on impact.

"...Emma?!"

The darker woman's voice is unusually high as she blinks away the irritating haze of dust born from her actions. Swallowing with an uncharacteristic sense of nervousness, she scans the chaos of leaves and branches fretfully for signs of the young woman in question.

_Oh good god, what will Henry think if I have to tell him I've succeeded in killing the Sheriff?!_

Nothing, she supposes, as the boy would have no idea who she might be talking about... And, if she  _were_  to try and explain how such a thing might have happened... Well... She doesn't imagine 'I- this town's Mayor and nothing more- was out in the woods teaching your mother magic and it got a little out of hand' would really stand up as an explanation in Henry's eyes.

"Miss Swan?!"

She tries again, edging towards the fallen tree with a frown. Pulling aside a thick veil of leaves, she lets out a low gasp as she spies a shredded scrap of garish leather skewered on a splintered twig.

"Oh god, what have I done...?"

"Well  _that's_  new..."

Comes a familiarly husky drawl from her left, and she stumbles slightly in surprise; casting her attention wildly in that direction.

"Up here."

The blonde quips with a fair amount of amusement; offering the Queen an awkward smile as Regina finally looks up to find her perched within the wide bough of an elm.

"How did you...?"

Dark brows furrow in confusion as the brunette's heartbeat returns somewhat to normal, and the younger woman shakes her head with a bewildered expression.

"I don't really know... I made mincemeat- or wood chips, I guess- of that branch you attacked me with, and then I felt leaves in my hair and it went dark... I just... I just closed my eyes and thought to myself... 'shit'... Then I was up here."

"You... Well, what use to  _me_  is this lesson if you can't even concentrate enough to understand the results?!"

The Queen cries; throwing her hands up impatiently. Emma studies her silently as she runs the tip of her tongue pensively across the back of her teeth. The incredulity of the Mayor's exclamation is pure Regina, but the darker woman's elegant features retain a chalky pallor, and her eyes are just a little bit too wide.

"About as useful to  _me_  as you trying to off me with shrubbery, Madame Mayor."

She shrugs; attention wavering to the sleeve of her jacket as she fingers the ruined leather with a disgruntled sigh.

"I wasn't trying to-... I was  _teaching_  you. Just like you asked me to."

The brunette hisses poisonously, and the blonde glances back up and rolls her eyes when met with an irritable glower.

"Well, I guess I learnt... _Something_... So no harm done."

She swings her leg up over the branch and finds purchase with her hands; thus missing the Mayor's reluctantly concerned study of this process as she folds her arms across her chest and waits.

 _No harm done... No... But what_  if _she'd-_

The darker woman quells such thoughts irritably and allows her anxious observation of Emma's rather reckless descent down the tree to turn to curious appreciation of slim legs and the pale swatch of flesh revealed in her outstretched position above the waistline of her jeans.

Despite her recent shock, she finds herself thinking- as she often used to- how badly she'd like to take the blonde shopping and find her some decent attire.

_I mean, she has the figure for it..._

This explanative afterthought had always served to make her blush lightly, and this current occasion is no exception.

Waving such obscure fancies away, she rolls her eyes as the Sheriff jumps down the last couple of feet and rubs her mossy hands on her thighs.

"Graceful..."

"Thanks; I was once offered a gymnastics scholarship."

Opening her mouth to query this information, the Queen seems to think better of it and simply shakes her head. She finds she has a hard time differentiating fact from inane- entirely random- fiction when it comes to Emma's comments, and harbours neither the patience nor the actual  _interest_  to categorise the two.

"You'll have to organise some sort of removal for that I expect. It would be a waste not to use the wood."

The Queen remarks; pointing to what remains of the tree.

"Yeah, that's not  _really_  in my job description... Being a  _bail bonds person_  and all."

"Well, there's little use for that kind of position here in Storybrooke."

"Which would  _actually_  matter,  _if_  I was considering moving back here."

"... You're still set on moving back to New York when this is over...?"

" _Literally_  can't wait."

"... I see."

"Look, I-"

"-Oh, I don't need an explanation, dear, I was merely asking."

"Right..."

The blonde shrugs a little awkwardly; falling behind the brunette as the latter makes her way over to the bridge. Sensing a touch of hostility in the air- at least, more so than usual- Emma sighs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans with a frown before raising her voice.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. Or did you imagine I  _enjoy_  being out here in the freezing cold with only yourself for company?"

"... I... What about the rest of the lesson?"

"What about it, Miss Swan? It would seem you don't need  _me_  to teach you after all. You said it yourself; all you need to do is close your eyes and curse childishly inside your head and you'll do just fine."

Regina snaps, with a little more anger than she'd intended. She isn't entirely sure where some of that rage stems from- not liking the thought of her son being ripped away once again, but accepting that his lack of memories would make things both difficult and excruciatingly painful for her own sorry heart if he were to stay- and she isn't sure she wants to ponder the matter for an answer.

The Queen's irritation isn't lost on the blonde either, and she strives to find a way to rectify whatever displeasure she has caused the darker woman; not knowing what she's  _done_  to upset her- for she understands the brunette recognises their dilemma when it comes to Henry, however cruel such a thing may seem- but knows that she is somehow to blame all the same.

"Well, okay... But can I at least ask you a question?"

"I suppose you  _could_  manage, yes."

Ignoring the Mayor's baited response, Emma perches on the remains of the fallen tree and waits for Regina to unclench; the darker woman eventually relenting and adopting a less hostile stance.

"You never told me about the third line."

"I'm sorry?"

"This morning, with the elves and the books and stuff... You pointed out three lines to me, but only covered how to use two... What about the heart line?"

The brunette regards the younger woman silently for a beat, before letting out a low sigh and stalking a little closer.

_What about the heart line, indeed..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: One day, I will attempt to begin one of these with an actual plot so that I'm not making it up as I go! Hopefully it's fun :) Please review!

_What about the heart line, indeed..._

"...I'm not sure that would really come into play."

"How do you mean?"

"Well... The heart line in this case covers the shallowest of uses for the vessel; 'love' of a, well, of a  _romantic_  sort. 'Love' where there is a carnal aspect. An element of desire. I _would_  suggest such a practice might prove useful if this witch plans on going after your pirate-"

"- _Or_  your archer-"

"-Miss Swan... Desist."

The brunette grumbles, as she toes the leaves at her feet with an air of disgust. Emma complies amiably enough and pulls herself up so that she sits with her arms linked around her knees on the fallen remains of the old oak. Dark coals flash from the ruined cuff of garish leather to the unyielding bark finally laid to rest on the forest floor, and the Mayor finds herself a little shaken by how quickly things could have turned for the worse. She purses her lips and regards the younger woman thoughtfully, before continuing

"If you would have let me _finish_ , however... Your sordid fancies and your  _imagined_  interests on my account are of little worth, as neither of the men in question possess any touch of power."

"How come they would have to-"

"-Our hearts- at least, when it comes to lore- are almost always useless on their own. The idea of one's heart being behind their magic- as opposed to their vitality- is another thing  _entirely_  to what you might have learnt so far."

"Well,  _so_  far, I've learnt 'inside; good, outside; bad'... Well, that and-"

"- _So_  far, you have learnt very  _little_."

"Hey! That doesn't really seem fair, I mean, I-"

"-And if you continue to _interrupt_  me, this is going to take twice as long."

"Yeah, but you-"

"-Would you behave in such a manner if I were a teacher teaching a lesson in a classroom?"

"... Probably."

"Then your previous tutors have my  _deepest_  sympathies, Miss Swan."

Regina growls with a roll of her eyes, although she inwardly reprimands herself for expecting anything  _else_  of the young woman sat smirking before her.

"If you like, I can go stand in the corner and think about what I've done?"

Emma offers with a guise of pure innocence, and the brunette shakes her head as her breath mists to form angry clouds of fog. She has yet to figure out how to deal with this strange facet of their new relationship; the blonde entirely different when they are alone to how she presents herself in the company of others. For some obscure reason, Emma seems to have chosen  _her_  to be the person she allows herself to relax around, and, while the stoic, gravelly apathy of their previous conversations had been  _unbelievably_  grating, this impish, openly mischievous version of the Sheriff leaves her feeling uncomfortably confused.

After all, the younger woman proposes a host of wayward mannerisms that she utterly  _detests_...

And yet...

Well...

They suit her.

And there is something strangely appealing in the way she feels as though the blonde sees her almost as a friend.

 _Not_  that  _she_  would choose the Sheriff by  _any_  stretch of the imagination to play her comrade...

But...

 _It's been a hell of a long time since anyone_ else _tried to take up that mantel._

Sniffing dismissively as she hunches her shoulders against the cold, she caries on with her explanation as she beckons the younger woman down from her perch to follow her back into town.

"What I was  _trying_  to explain to you, before I was so rudely interrupted, was that to use the heart lines you have to work  _together_. You have to work with the one whose affections you share to emit a combined form of power. Needless to say, the resultant force of using your heart line is the most powerful of all three, but, with the decrease in those who possess any form of magic, it is seldom used. The prerequisite factor of needing an amorous relationship with another of power means use of such magic died out with the decline in practitioners breeding with their own kind. Not _entirely_... But save to say there have been few documented cases in the last couple of decades."

"... But why? I mean... _I'm_  magic, and my parents don't-"

"-You're also the  _Saviour,_  Miss Swan. For all intents and purposes, you are simply a _tool_  fashioned by the Dark One made flesh."

"Right..."

The younger woman sighs with a frown; the fact that she exists only as a mechanism to something much greater no easier to come to terms with the  _second_  time around.

True, both her parents and the Dark One have made it clear that there is  _more_  to such things, and that she exists in her own right the same way any of them might... But...

Well, Regina's words may be fashioned to sting, but they pretty much sum up how she feels about the topic herself.

_Yeah, and this isn't the first time..._

Not by a long shot.

And she supposes this might be part of the reason she has found herself curiously elated to work  _with_  the brunette rather than against her.

She makes  _sense_.

She can be a _bitch_  about it, sure, but she makes sense.

Catching the shift in the younger woman's mood easily, Regina sighs, but continues on as though uninterrupted; not having forgiven Emma quite enough for her scare by the bridge to offer any consolation.

Whether the blonde had  _meant_  to frighten her or not.

"Of course, there are anomalies to  _any_  system, but  _ordinarily_ , magic is a birthright. Oh, back in the day when it was still being honed, altered and perfected, there were those that taught themselves via various means- none of them particularly savoury- but that was a little before my time-"

"- _Decades_  ago..."

The younger woman smirks, and Regina snaps at her irritably

"There are six years between us, if that!"

"Well yeah, _sort_  of... But could you show me a birth certificate that said the same?"

Emma grins, before her face drops when the brunette hisses maliciously

"Could _you_  show me one that said anything at _all_?"

"... Nice, Regina. Real nice."

The blonde huffs, and the darker woman quickens her pace slightly in pursuit of the Sheriff as she storms ahead.

"Oh, come now! Everything worked out in the end! You don't need a piece of  _paper_  to say that the two idiots are besotted with you!"

She grumbles irritably; falling into step beside the blonde as the latter shrugs moodily in a way that suggests she sees the Mayor's point, but is unwilling to give up on her agitation.

"I guess..."

"Such a tradition was never practiced back in the Enchanted Forest anyway, especially not in the name of a  _princess_."

"Ugh..."

"Oh, I am in  _pure_  agreement if that unladylike noise is in response to your position in line to the proverbial throne, dear, but, be that as it may, tradition is tradition, and, _however_  hard it may be for myself to fathom you as 'royal' by  _any_  degree, your birth would have been announced and documented in a charter as was the way."

"Fancy."

Emma smirks, giving up the ghost of her former irritation in favour of returning to their original topic of conversation.

"Okay, so, there weren't enough people around with power to fall in love and cast, uh, heart magic? That's why it's not been done in a while?"

"Love? Who ever said they had to be  _in_  love? I stated that there had to be an  _attraction_. To call such a visceral thing as lust 'love' would be cheapening the idea."

"So... As long as you wanted to get into the other person's  _pants_ , you're all set?"

The Sheriff drawls with a frown; such a vague implementation of the rules not at all what she has come to expect from magic. Sensing her confusion, Regina sighs as she finds herself slightly uncomfortable giving the younger woman what is threatening to turn into a lesson in sexual education rather than simple hand placement to hone her craft.

"Well... The feeling would need to be mutual... And of a deeper sense than simply appreciating another's _appeal_... It's... Um... All to do with  _passion_. When one... Hmm... Lies with another... That sense of excitement, and, well, I don't need to discuss the various reactions your body goes through, is similar to the passion needed to work the kind of magic that you're asking about. It's... It's said to be rather intense."

"Sounds it..."

The blonde smirks as she takes in the deep blush painting the darker woman's cheeks as they exit the shadow of the trees. Thinking on Regina's words, she suddenly wrinkles her nose and inquires with all the eloquence of a teenage boy

"Wait... Are you trying to say... I mean... Do people get  _off_  on it? While they're doing it!?"

"... I haven't read quite  _that_  deeply into any scripture, dear, but I don't see why we shouldn't put the topic to rest. Seeing as it bares little point discussing as I'm sure you'll agree."

The brunette replies with flustered finality.

"Well, yeah, I mean, from the sounds of things-"

"-That is, unless you've been harbouring any unaddressed feelings for Rumple, in which case who  _knows_  where our limitations lie."

Regina smirks at the notion; not bothering to wait on a reply to something so ludicrous, but simply enjoying poking fun at the younger woman in return for the discomfort the topic has lent her.

Emma merely finds herself frowning momentarily- curiously thrown as she remembers the way her study of the Mayor's svelte form hugged by sinful crimson had given her pause for thought back in Mary Margaret's apartment- before rolling her eyes and drawling playfully

"Yeah, no, not so much. Sorry, Regina... Why do you ask? Covering up a crush?"

"... Definitely,  _definitely_  not."

The brunette sniffs, but not without a small note of amusement; her eyes glittering as she turns to face the Saviour outside Granny's.

"So it would appear such a thing would be moot, as there are only three of us on this sorry side possessing any form of power, and it would seem our common male interest is of, well,  _no_  interest. Good day, Miss Swan."

She nods curtly; spying Henry making his way out of the Diner and heading towards the younger woman, and not in the mood to play her part in his fantasy world. Emma raises her hand distractedly in return, before turning to their son and greeting him amiably.

"Hey, Henry."

"Mom, where were you?"

"Huh? Oh, I went for a little walk with Mayor Mills... We, uh, used to hang out quite a bit, and felt reminiscing a little..."

" _Right_... Like your 'friend from jail'..."

Henry drawls; his growing disbelief in the story the blonde has been spinning him since arriving here evident in his tone.

"Right."

Emma agrees, momentarily preoccupied as they start up the path; her gaze fixed on the retreating form of the Mayor as the latter sashays smartly towards her office.

"-boat."

"Huh?"

She snaps out of her voyeuristic trance and glances down at Henry in surprise.

"... I  _said_ , Killian wanted to know if you wanted to go and look at the boat."

" _Leroy'_ s boat?"

"Yeah."

"Why? I've seen Leroy's boat. I don't even really like-"

"- _Don't_  think that was why he was asking, mom..."

Henry grins, and she frowns at him as she tries to gain some control over the peculiar disarray of her feelings.

"Oh hush, you..."

"Aw, come on! You don't even like him a  _little_? You're allowed to  _say_ , you know, I'm not a  _kid_  anymore! You're allowed to have a _crush_ , even if you are my mom and it's _totally_  gross..."

"... What, like you and Natalie Pirbright, you mean?"

"I-"

"-And you're still a kid, you'll  _always_  be a kid. I'm your mother; you'll be a kid when you're fifty."

"You're changing the subject... I can _tell_  you're crushing; you're my mother, I can _always_  tell... And I so do  _not_  like Natalie... Girls are gross!"

"... Right."


End file.
